Dollhouse of Stars
by RealIceMetalPunk
Summary: In a relatively unknown Dollhouse, a programmer gets sick of watching his actives being abused by other employees, so he decides to take matters into his own hands.
1. Prologue

_The Dollhouses had spread internationally before they fell...before the world fell. There was the DC Dollhouse, populated with Greek gods and goddesses. There was the LA Dollhouse, filled with unknowns whose names had been replaced with mere military codes. And there was the London Dollhouse, consisting of mythological Norse figures. But there was also a little-known Dollhouse, operating out of a relatively unknown city in the middle of the United States. These are the adventures of the Dollhouse of Stars._


	2. Luca's Lust

"Prepare Cassiopeia for her next engagement," Foster said coldly, handing a folder filled with client information to the programmer in front of his desk. "And this time, do it right. If she goes all blank-eyed again, then we've breached contract. And do you know what a breached contract means, Hart?"

Wis nodded. "It means potential lawsuit and definite financial loss, sir."

"Good, then you know. And yet, it's happened before. Do _not_ let it happen again." He paused. "And you're still here because...?"

Lewis Hart quickly stood and left the office, folder in hand. He loved his job, but he hated his _job_. Programming was his favorite fantasy throughout college, and when he'd gotten a real chance to practice it for a paycheck, he'd flat-out screamed in ecstasy. But the creative part of programming...that was the fun. Not this bureaucratic, take-orders-from-anyone-with-a-dime bullshit. At least he still got to inject a bit of his ideas into the backstories of the imprints. Like this one: "Jessica Aubrey, subservient, mild masochistic streak." Wis knew exactly what Cassie would be used for this time, but to soften the blow on her, he added a dulled sense of pain and a stern resolve in the face of danger—courtesy of a childhood diagnosis of CIPA and a loving family who taught her to be brave even when she couldn't fight back.

"Cassie!" he called, after his imprint was done. Dr. Shelly brought her up to the chair and she sat down. "Where's your handler?"

"I think she's with Andromeda. She's being her best for her, like I'm my best for you." She smiled absently, nothing in her eyes but innocent vacancy.

"Ugh!" Hart groaned. "Stay right there. Don't move. I'll be back in a minute." Goddammit, Luca. Why did she always have to make things difficult? She was handler to only _one_ active, was it so hard to be there when Cassie needed her? Wis made his way to Andromeda's last known location, the exercise room, and sure enough, there was Luca, shirt opened in front of the active as she enjoyed her dry lactation.

"Luca! Goddammit, you know if this weren't a Dollhouse—hell, if it were even the LA Dollhouse—you'd be arrested for shit like this!"

Luca turned her head casually, still holding Andromeda to her breast. "Oh, relax. It's not like we're allowed to engage them, so then what's the point of being around airheads all day if you can't have some fun?"

Wis pulled Andromeda away abruptly, leading her to frown. "What's wrong? Was I not my best? Did I do it wrong?" Tears began to form in her eyes.

"No, Andi, you're more than your best. Luca is just late for an appointment."

The doll immediately ceased her tears and grinned. "I try to be my best."

"I know, Andi. And you are. You, however..." he said, turning to Luca, who merely scowled. "Cassie's up in the chair now, waiting for you to be there when her imprint is done, and instead you're here, getting off on dominating an active."

"Totally worth it," the agent replied, as she turned and headed towards the imprint room.

"You know, if I ever find out you're doing those things to Cassie, I'll—"

"You'll what? Foster knows and doesn't give a shit. The actives aren't complaining. And you can't report me to the authorities without turning yourself in for programming. So quit the knight in shining lab coat act, man up over your obvious boycrush, and enjoy your girl toy already."

As Luca opened the door to the imprint room and buttoned her shirt, Wis just muttered, "I actually _have_ morals."


	3. The Engagement

Jessica Aubrey sighed as she stared out the window of the van bringing her to her next "client". How had she ended up like this? She had a loving family, wonderful parents. So she had a rare disorder—who cares? It didn't affect her life too much. Pain was dulled to her, but she still felt enough to know when to get out. None of that explained why she was now headed to the house of a man who would no doubt use her, abuse her, and get all sorts of fluids on her. And for what? A little cash? Why couldn't she find a real job? Then again, she had tried for years, and no one would hire her. She'd tried to file a discrimination suit once or twice, but she never had any proof the employers were passing because of her condition. She wondered why she always mentioned CIPA on her applications...

"We're here. His name's Ricky. Go get 'em...or, you know, let him get you." Luca grinned, but Jessica did not. She hated Luca with a passion, though she really didn't know why. Luca was always around when she went out with clients, a buddy to support her if things went too wrong...so why did she want to put a pencil through her eye every time Luca spoke?

Jessica walked up to the front door, smoothed her tight skirt, and knocked several times. There was no answer, and Jessica hoped that meant she could move onto another client...maybe one who was a romantic instead of a savage. One who would take her on an actual date, like she hadn't had in years, with wine and Italian food and—but then the door opened, revealing a large, hairy man wearing nothing but a pair of denim shorts, which were pointless as his penis hung out of the zipper. "You da girl?" he asked gruffly. Jessica nodded shyly, and then screamed in shock as his large, rough hand grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her inside the door.

"Don't you want to, uh, freshen up first?" She really hoped to buy a little time to prepare herself for what was to come.

"'Fresh'n up?' What am I, a puss like you?" He grabbed her right breast and squeezed so hard that it hurt a little—which meant a normal woman would have been crying in pain already. "Lemme see 'em, honey. All four of 'em."

"Um...four?" she asked, genuinely confused; then again, it's not easy to think straight when you're in fear for your safety. No matter how often this happened, no matter how brave she was, Jessica could never get used to feeling like she was about to die. And worse, feeling like her body might just enjoy it a little before the end, against her will. Shame mixed with fear...it was horrible.

"Yeah, four, ya dumb bitch," Ricky said, and pushed her onto the dirtiest couch in the world with one hand on her chest.

"One," he said, as he reached a hand under her skirt. She knew she wasn't to do anything against his wishes, but she wished she could. She felt his dirty fingers push hard inside her, too hard. She felt stretched in the most uncomfortable way, but he only thrust a finger in once before continuing.

"Two," and suddenly, his thumb was pushing hard into another hole. Jessica wasn't a fan of anal, though many clients had used her there before. But this wasn't anal sex...this wasn't sex...this was a loveless, lustless, intimacy-free caricature of sex, a medical exam with no doctors. Jessica gasped each of the three times he pushed deeper, until his fingers were buried inside her holes.

"Three," he said, and used his free hand to reach under her shirt and again squeeze her tit until it bruised. He flicked her nipple with his thumb—and there it was. Her body's betrayal. She knew she shouldn't enjoy this, but as his thumb shot back and forth across her sensitive areola, she let out a moan of pleasure. "See, bitch? You like it 'cuz yer finally bein' used for what yer made fer." The interplay of his fingers pumping in and out of her vagina, in and out of her anus, over and across her nipples, was too much to bear, and she finally yelled out, "FUCK ME!"  
Ricky grinned evilly. "Four," he said, and he quickly bent down and bit hard on her other nipple. Suddenly, Jessica was wrapping her legs around him and silently (or at least, without words under her moans and screams) pulling him in, begging for his dick inside her.

"Looks like you had fun." Luca grinned as Jessica walked back to the van, trying unsuccessfully to straighten her skirt and shirt, to hide the blood and the stains from other fluids that covered her clothing.

"I wouldn't call it that..." Jessica closed the van door behind her. "The guy...was beyond a creep. Beyond a monster. I've been objectified before, but that..."

"I heard you yelling, and it sounded like you liked it." Luca continued her slimy grin, and Jessica wished she had been the one dealing with Ricky instead. Luca could feel pain far more than she could, and if she knew how it hurt, she wouldn't be so smug.

"Can we just go? Please tell me the next client is gentler than that..."

"Well, before your next client, would you like a treatment?"

Jessica nodded. That sounded nice. A quick treatment, then she'd get back to work and get a few more dollars in her bank account. Maybe the treatment would help prepare her for whoever was next, too, and that would just be a bonus. She always enjoyed her treatments.

"Did I fall asleep?" Cassiopeia looked up at her friend Wis with a smile. Then she winced in pain as she looked down at her breasts and reached down to touch her crotch. "It...hurts..."

"You fell asleep for a little while," he answered. "Why don't you go see Dr. Shelly? She can help you feel better."

Cassie tried to smile, but only partially succeeded, as she ambled out of the room filled with equipment and headed to the infirmary. Wis watched as she left and hated everything he saw, especially when he saw Luca enter the room.

"Oh, don't get so down, loverboy. You knew what the client wanted before Jessica was even a reality." Luca chuckled dismissively.

"That doesn't mean I have to like it...and that's a _lot_ of blood; where were you when she was being abused?"

"In the van. She was fine, didn't even scream in pain all that much."

"That's because she couldn't _feel_ the pain, but she was still getting hurt..."

"And whose fault is that? Anyway, she'll be fine with a few bandages and some off-duty rest. How about you focus on whichever Blanky is up next?"

"How many times have I told you not to call them that?!" Wis yelled angrily. To him, the term "Blanky" was as offensive as the word "retard" or "schizo". Maybe worse, because the dolls couldn't possibly understand that they were being mocked. But they were still people, still humans, locked under an imposed mask of amnesia, and they deserved humane treatment.

"Oh, about a million, but if I haven't listened to you so far, when will you get the hint?" Luca chuckled and strolled out of the imprint room without a care.

Wis had tried to report Luca to Foster many times, but Foster stood by the idea that until a doll's life was unnecessarily placed in serious danger, Luca was doing her job well. He didn't care that she was sexually assaulting them around the Dollhouse. He didn't care that she couldn't give a shit about their safety unless it endangered her job. He didn't care that she treated them like inanimate objects when they weren't imprinted. He was so results-oriented that none of it mattered to him.

Wis sighed, knowing Luca was right: there was nothing he could do. Not without getting arrested, at least. He opened the file folder to read up on the next engagement; this one would be going to Lyra. At least it was much more toned-down than Cassie's recent activities, if a bit sadder: "Regular client. Requests Lyra. Lost daughter Susan three years ago; requests an active to be Susan so he can celebrate her birthday with her. Video footage, description, and diary entries provided for reference." Well, Wis would have to spend some time reading and watching all of the reference material to truly get a feel for who Susan was, but the entire thing just depressed him. He understood how hard it must be to lose a loved one, but in his opinion, getting a doll to be a cheap copy would only prevent them from moving on in a very unhealthy manner. But it was his money, so he got to decide how to spend it; Wis prepared for a binge research session.


	4. The Birthday

Susan Patterson sat in the back of the van as it pulled up to her house. "So, why are you guys bringing me home again?" she asked of the large man sitting beside her. He was kind of cute, if she was honest, but she didn't think her dad would appreciate her bringing home a new guy, especially on her birthday. He always liked this day to be about spending time together, just a father-daughter experience.

"Just being friendly," the man answered. "With your car in the shop, we just thought you might like a ride."

"Well, thanks, Mr..."

"Richard."

"Thanks, Richard." She opened the van door as it parked in front of her lawn. "I guess this is goodbye." She slammed the door shut and looked up at her house with a warm smile. College was great, but sometimes it was nice to be home, in the same house where she grew up. She knocked on the door and waited for an answer.

The door opened. Her dad took one look at her and exclaimed, "Susan!" He hugged her so tightly she almost couldn't breathe.

"Okay, okay, jeeze, Dad, it's not like you don't see me every holiday and between semesters!"

He let go of her, but she could swear he had wiped away a few tears. "Yeah...of course, yeah, you're right. I'm just happy to see you, that's all. Happy birthday, Susie; come in, come in, don't be a stranger!"

Susan stepped into the house, and immediately felt nostalgic. The living room was just as she remembered it; there were so many photos of her as a baby trying to stand up next to that very couch. She went to her bedroom to drop her bookbag off, the same room where her dad had taken photos when she'd finally decorated it to celebrate their move into their new home. And God knows how many videos had been taken in that kitchen for every holiday meal ever eaten. It was strange how she seemed to remember her childhood like a movie flashing in front of her eyes.

"Wait, wait, don't go in the kitchen yet!" her dad yelled as she almost passed through it to reach the family room.

"Dad, I can already guess you got me a cake; there are no surprises to ruin," she teased.

He ran into the kitchen, grabbed a lighter, turned off the lights, and pulled the cake out of the fridge, candles already stuck inside it. As he lit them, he gestured for her to enter and started singing. "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday my dear Susie...happy birthday to you!" She sat down at the table and he deposited the cake in front of her. "Make a wish and blow out the candles!"

She closed her eyes, wished that she didn't have to return to her dorm, and blew out the candles. It was so nice being back home with her father, she wanted to stay forever. Her dad sat across from her and cut a slice of cake for her, then one for him, and they started talking. He asked her how school was, and she told him about an essay she had to write for a psychology course. She'd been worried that she hadn't understood the material, but then she got the paper back with a 100% grade and a note from the professor asking if it could be used as an example to future students.

Her dad chuckled. "I love hearing that story," he said.

"What?" Susan asked, puzzled. "But I just told you about it now..."

"Oh, nothing, don't worry about it," he dismissed. "I'm just glad you're doing well. I really do appreciate getting to spend time with you every year."

"Aw, Dad, you're making blush," she joked. "Nah, you know I'll be here every year until I'm done with school, and then I'll probably be living here until I find a job, so you'll get sick of me soon enough." She took another bite of the delicious cake.

"I could never get sick of you, honey," he said. "Remember when you were seven, and you ran away from home because you wanted some toy that I didn't buy you?"

Susan burst out laughing, almost spitting cake in the process. "Yeah, I do. It was a Polly Pocket; I even wrote in my diary how mean you were for not buying it and how I wanted to live with Santa in the North Pole because he always got me gifts." She was such a silly child, but then, she supposed all children were silly like that.

"Yeah," her dad agreed, "but you never made it to the North Pole. And then I felt so bad that a couple months later, I got you that Polly Pocket for Christmas."

"Wait, you did?" Susan asked. "I don't even remember that."

"Yeah. You were so happy you told me that you loved me more than Santa."

"I don't remember any of that...well, it couldn't have been too important to me, then."

"I suppose..." her dad said, but he seemed worried for some reason.

"Dad? Is something wrong? You haven't even eaten any of the cake, and you love vanilla cake."

"No..." he said quietly. Suddenly, he seemed angry. "No! You love vanilla cake, but I never have. You should know that, Susan!"

"Woah, Dad, calm down," Susan cautioned, a bit scared now. "It's just cake."

"No, it's not just cake. It's also that you don't remember your Christmas gifts. And you probably don't remember anything that's not in your diary, either. Every year I sit here, and every year we have this conversation, but it...it's not you! You're not her!"

"Dad, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't call me that! I thought I could hold onto her memory, but you're not even her memory! You're just an imitation! Just a ghost of a ghost who doesn't even know the first thing about me!"

Susan pushed her chair back, stood up, and slowly backed away from the table. She'd never seen her father this upset before. "Dad, I have no idea what you're saying. What's wrong? Can I help?"

"NO! You can't help! You are not Susan. You never will be, no matter how many years I pretend."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. "I'll get it!" Susan yelled, desperate for any excuse to get away for a bit. She answered the door, and standing there was Richard, the guy who'd given her a ride home earlier. "Okay, this is not a good time, Richard."

"Family drama?" he asked presciently.

"Yeah, it's just—wait, did you wait outside for me or something?" What a creeper.

"Can I speak to your father, then?" Richard dodged her question completely.

"Uh, no. I don't know you at all, so no. Can you just leave?"

"In that case, would you like a treatment?"

Susan considered for a moment before deciding a treatment would definitely help reduce the stress of her father's tantrum, whatever caused it, so she made her way back to the van. As she did, her dad came to the door, and she saw Richard say something to him out of earshot. The door closed and Richard came back to the van with her. "As soon as it's over, I'm coming back here. I need to see what's up with my dad."

"Of course, Susan, we'll bring you right back after."

"Did I fall asleep?"

"For a little while," Wis said.  
"Shall I go now?"  
"If you like. It's painting time in the art room." Lyra grinned and walked over to the art room; painting always helped her be her best.

Wis turned to Richard. "What the hell happened? Before I wiped her, her adrenaline and cortisol levels were through the roof. Don't tell me she was abused on engagement, too?"

"Not quite," Richard assured him. "I guess Patterson couldn't keep playing the charade anymore, and he almost exposed Lyra to Susan. Kept bringing up all sorts of memories she didn't have, yelling about how she wasn't really Susan. I stepped in before anything violent happened, but she was pretty shaken."

"I can imagine," Wis lamented. "It's not good for a doll to be faced with contradictions to her imprint. Nothing physically dangerous, of course, but it can be disorienting and straight-up confusing. Really bad, psychologically speaking."

"Yeah, well, I spoke to Foster when we got here, before I brought Lyra up, and I'm pretty sure he's about to blacklist Patterson for almost damaging his merchandise."

"They're...they're not merchandise, they're people, Rich."

"I know, and I agree. But try telling that to Foster or, for God's sake, Luca. To them, the dolls are just toys and dollar signs. I think we might be the only two decent human beings working here besides the Doc." He sighed. "Well, all we can do is keep them out of harm's way. I'll catch you later." With that, he left.

"No..." Wis said to himself. "No, we can do so much more. We can give them so much more..." And with that, he sat back down at his computer and began programming, with not an open case file in sight.


End file.
